The Pup Who Cried Wolf

Summary

Lobo is a tiny Chihuahua with a big dream-to join a wolf pack. When Lobo's owner takes her pets on vacation to Yellowstone National Park, Lobo thinks he'll finally have the opportunity to find his wolf-brothers. But he doesn't count on a strict park rule that will keep him on a leash! With the help of his endearingly quirky family-a smart Spanish-speaking parrot named Glory and a wisecracking white rat named Heckles-Lobo finally slips his leash and gets a chance to run with the wolves. But is the wild really where a feisty little five-pound pup belongs?

1

Don’t Mess with the Chihuahua

I’ve been waiting for a sign—a sign from my wild brothers that it’s time to join their pack. Today could be the day. Just as yesterday could have been the day … but wasn’t.

So far today has been pretty normal. But Mona is getting ready to take me to the park. Mona the beautiful. Mona the wonderful. Mona the one who wrapped me in a soft blanket when I was just a little thing.

I’m not little any longer. I’m a predator. A big, tough predator. Okay, I’m not that big. Actually, a little undersized, maybe. But that could be an advantage. Think of me as a dangerous wolf in a compact size.

That’s why Mona never goes to the park without me.

Protection.

When we leave the safety of the apartment, I set the tone early. Do my job. Make a statement. Create a don’t-mess-with-the-bad-boy-Chihuahua-or-the-beautiful-wonderfulness-in-the-flowing-skirt-and-loopy-earrings zone. Before I even step onto the sidewalk, I make up my mind to do my rapid-fire bark at the first person I see. Deep breath, dig down, let ’er rip! Bark, bark, bark. Ulp.

It turns out my target is an old lady pulling a wire cart on two wheels loaded with a large paper bag. Oops. Still, you never know what might be in a paper bag. Mona gets down to my level and scolds me. She seems to think the old lady is harmless and the bag contains groceries.

Mona is nice to everyone. Too nice. But deep down she understands she needs someone with a little grit to keep up the defenses.

Mona apologizes to the old lady while I peek in the bag. Groceries. Don’t know how Mona guessed. But anybody can get lucky. Onions, three bananas, a loaf of bread, and … what’s this? Tucked down under the bananas, three cans of Tabby Tidbits—Chicken à la King. A cat lover disguised as an innocent neighbor!

I give that woman another bark to let her know I have her little game figured out. Ulp. Mona tugs me down the street before I can warn the neighborhood.

Next we pass a couple of nasty cats on a windowsill, just sitting there because no one has the guts to make them move out. This is why neighbors with cat food are so dangerous. Is that a squirrel on a leash? says one cat.

Very funny. Luckily, I’m loaded with self-control. I decide to ignore them.

The other one laughs like this is the funniest thing she’s ever heard. Eat lots of acorns so you can grow up big and strong.

That does it. I bark and growl and lunge at them. Go right for the jugular. They’re too dumb to even flinch. Just keep on laughing. Hrmpf! Leashes. It’s possible they can tell I’m attached to a rope.

Lobo, mind your manners. Mona doesn’t like me barking at the cats in the neighborhood, even when they start it. I bet she wouldn’t mind so much if she could understand what they say.

All the way to the park, I remind myself about how excellent it is to be a dog with wolflike qualities. Cats! All they can dream about is that they come from … gee, let me see now … a cat! Wowee! My great-great-great-grandparents? Tough, beautiful wolves!

Finally we’re at the park. There is no feeling in the world like the one you get when the leash comes off and you can run full tilt as far as you want. Of course, I don’t stray too far from Mona. Like I said, she needs me.

Protection.

When we get back to the apartment, Hector, the rat, has been busy. He has his brand-new cardboard-tube home chewed all the way to the ground. Still sharp, still breaking it all down to size. He shows me his teeth. They are yellow and scary looking.

That was your house, I say.

Rats don’t need houses, he says. They need holes.

I need a pack, I say. Someday I’m going to find my wolf brothers.

You could be my rat brother, he says. We’re almost the same size.

I would not be very excited about being a rat brother, but I don’t say anything.

Suddenly, his nose goes up in the air. Falafel.

Huh?

Falafel. Extra hummus, extra onions. His nose twitches. Extra yogurt.

I test the air. The rat is right. There is something delicious out there. But a rat sniffer hasn’t been invented that can go up against a dog’s nose. I sniff again. Burrito, I say. Beans, not hummus. That’s a burrito.

Falafel, says Hector. He’s not giving up. And he sounds confident. A small tickle of doubt creeps into my mind. I can smell the spice, now. And is that … yogurt?

Okay, okay. You nailed it. That hurts.

Rat nose one, dog nose zero. Hector wiggles his behind to celebrate.

I hate losing our Next Top Smell game to a rat, and I especially hate losing to a showboating rat.

Game’s not over, I say. Best two out of three. Next Top Smell. We both test the air.

You first. Hector is looking cocky.

I catch the second scent immediately. Cajun, I say. "Cajun chicken with